The Facets of Our Souls
by mariecast34
Summary: Dean Winchester doesn't know what to expect for the future. He's spent his life running from his past and running from his future, but his time drifting is about up. Something big is coming. He can feel it in his bones and knows he needs back up to get through this unseen force heading his way. Will he be able to convince the one person he needs the most to join him?
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note:**_ **Greetings! I just wanted to take a minute and say thanks for your interest! I made a few tweaks to my original posting when I realized it wouldn't make sense where I had it. I'm afraid I'm quite new at this so I hope that if any of you have suggestions you'll take the time to inform me. Constructive criticism can go a long way and I'd love the help in creating something everyone can enjoy!**

 **Also, just a warning, this story only loosely follows the show so I'd say it could be dubbed as an AU.**

 **Disclaimer: Henceforth, I own nothing but the plot!**

 **My deepest thanks,**

 **Marie**

 **Prologue**

 _Thursday, July 26th 2001_

The harsh beat of feet on concrete sounded as Dean took a sharp turn onto another street. He was breathing heavily; it was a cool summer night and he could see wisps of his breath trailing out of his mouth as he ran. He rounded another corner and snarled when he realized, yet again, it was the wrong street he had turned on. Sweat poured down his back and his legs throbbed in protest at the abuse. It wasn't the first time he'd had to run for his life, but it certainly wasn't on his list of fun things to do. By his estimation he had been running for the past forty five minutes and it didn't look like it would be ending any time soon.

Behind him he could hear a sharp, ripping snarl and his instincts had him ducking and rolling just in time to see a large shape fly over where his head would have been. The creature lost control of its' landing as it skidded on its paws and fell with a yelp as it hit the hard ground. Dean would have laughed if his lungs hadn't been strained from running so much. Instead, he quickly heaved himself up and took off again. The streetlight wasn't aiding his search as much as he would have liked and running against something that had a definite advantage over him was without a doubt not something he enjoyed.

For the past several days he had been researching a new hunt that involved travelers disappearing along a stretch of road not far from the Georgia line in Alabama. It always happened at night. A few people who had been spooked on the road had all claimed to have seen a massive black dog. They said it had large, sharp teeth and eyes that glinted in the moonlight. A little research lead Dean to believe the creature was known as a Freybug. Regardless of its name, which Dean had found highly amusing, the creature was a massive dog-like monster that wandered on country roads and frightened travelers. While the lore did not involve the monster killing people, Dean believed this one may have taken on a much darker purpose. The bodies of the victims hadn't been found, but Dean suspected the dog had a sort of burrow it was staying in and quite possibly taking the bodies as trophies.

Knowing that the monster preyed on those passing through, Dean designed a plan to take a midnight jog through a neighborhood sticking to the back roads. He'd grabbed his favorite gun and placed that in the waistband of his pants when he got ready to (hopefully) face the creature. Not sure if his bullets would work he had scouted the area before hand and placed a stake somewhere along the stretch of road. Now Dean was thankful he had done so.

Not long after leaving his car he'd heard a low snarl; he'd grabbed at his gun and fired with a quick and sure aim. He'd known the moment he'd fired at the beast, that his bullet wouldn't do anything but make it angry. Sure enough the bullet flew straight at the creature and passed through its body with ease. The dog reeled at the impact, but was otherwise unharmed by the intrusion. It had then growled furiously at him before taking a lunging leap.

The scraping of claws against gravel drew him back to the present as he finally saw what he was looking for. He swerved to the side, spontaneously adding a limp to his gait hoping to trick the beast into thinking he'd twisted his ankle. He heard a triumphant growl behind him, but remained focused on his task. He dove toward the stake he had hidden earlier that day. The stake was fused with silver and entwined with mercury. Both elements were believed to heal nature. With the last of his flagging strength he twisted to face the murderous black dog as it dove onto him and he held steady as the creatures' momentum caused it to throw itself right onto the stake, piercing its heart.

There was a sickening squelch and thud, then the weight of the dog sagged on top of him, Dean grunted and heaved the great beast off of him. He glared at the body of the beast for a moment before flopping back onto the ground still breathing heavily. When his body calmed down enough for him to stop shaking he ran a weary hand over his sweat soaked hair and sat up. With a grunt he heaved himself up and pulled out the sage, salt, lighter fluid, and matches he always carried on a hunt. Sprinkling the sage and salt, then the lighter fluid over the still body, he waited until he was sure the lighter fluid was reasonably spread across the body before lighting it up.

He waited anxiously for it to finish burning and was thankful that the creature, like the others he'd encountered, seemed to be highly combustible. Once he made sure everything had been turned to dust he searched the area to make sure no open fires started before setting out to find his car. He cursed to himself when he realized he left it under the cover of a grove of trees about three miles down the road.

His previous run hadn't been the most straight forward one. He had deliberately run off course in case the dog was smart enough to realize he was trying to lure it to his kill zone. With a long suffering sigh he picked up his feet and took off in a light jog towards his car reasoning that the sooner he was back to his room the better. He badly needed a shower, felt as if he were dying of thirst, and was badly craving food.

With those thoughts in mind he made it back to his car faster than he anticipated. He almost kissed his car in relief when he saw her. She was waiting patiently for him right where he left her. Ignoring the ache in his joints he did a quick check of his baby to make sure nothing had disturbed her in his absence. Once satisfied his baby had come out of the encounter unscathed he climbed into the driver's seat and closed his eyes in relief.

He had only been sitting in his car for a few minutes when he became aware of a trickling sensation on his left arm and back. He'd dismissed it at first as sweat, but his body has cooled since and the sweat was now uncomfortably dried to his skin. With a curse he used his small flashlight to illuminate his arm and growled when he realized the dog must have scratched him when they had both tumbled down about fifteen minutes into the chase. Grabbing some napkins he had gotten with his last take out. He then pressed them onto the wound and hissed when he realized there must have been salt on the napkins because as soon as the paper made contact with his ripped skin it started to burn. The cuts could have been worse he decided when he looked at the blood coating the napkins. Shrugging to himself he wadded it up and tossed it into his take out bag.

He was about to place his keys in the ignition and head out when he remembered the bodies of the victims still hadn't been found. With a groan he threw his head back against the headrest. He knew it was on him to find it. Otherwise the victims would never be found and they deserved better than that.

Closing his eyes for a second he let out a deep breath and centered his focus, pushing back everything except for finding the beast's lair. This was the reason he did his job after all, not only to get rid of the evil sulking in the shadows, but to prevent others from the same loss he'd felt all those years ago. He did it to protect others and he did it for his family. He did it for Sammy.

 _A day and a half later_ saw Dean pulling into a small cabin in southern Nebraska where his dad and brother had been stationed in his absence. Dust swirled around his car as he came to a halt. The cabin was a fairly large one. The wood panels were darkened and worn with age and a small window opened for those inside to see the small meadow that eventually gave way to the trees surrounding it. There wasn't another car parked outside, but that didn't bother Dean. He wouldn't be surprised to hear his father had taken off on another hunt.

Letting out a slow and unsteady breath he rubbed his tired eyes. He'd driven a straight nineteen hours to arrive just outside a small town in southern Nebraska at the cabin. He wasn't sure what had upset him up so badly about this last case. He'd seen many bodies before, but this time it wasn't just that. The picture of a dark skinned woman with long ebony hair flashed through his mind. She was one of the nine victims and Dean could tell she'd been beautiful in life, but it was the babe clenched tightly in her arms, even in death, that had him shaken to the core.

He didn't know if it was because seeing that reminded him of his own mother and how he knew she would have done the same for himself and his brother. It also could have been the strange surge of pride and admiration he felt for this woman because he knew, if the choice had to be made, he would do the same for his brother. Either way the encounter had left him unsettled and more than anything he wanted to rush inside and make sure his little brother was okay. That Sammy was still grousing over being left behind again or moping about being left in the middle of nowhere.

Eager to see his little brother, but not wanting to let on how much this last case had affected him, Dean grabbed his two duffels and tossed them over his shoulders before making his way inside. He let himself in and dumped his bags on the floor. There were no lights turned on in the small hallway, but the midday sun shone brightly through the windows. Dean paused for a moment allowing his eyes to adjust before striding forward.

The hall was swathed in sunlight and as if filtered through the window, small specks of dust could be seen swaying listlessly through the air. The light gray painted walls lit up to reveal a dark green hue in its depth. As he walked, his tired, worn out body was shedding the exhaustion like a snake shedding its skin. His footsteps felt considerably lighter now that he knew he was seconds away from seeing his brother. He walked into the kitchen and immediately realized it was empty. He then made a beeline straight toward the living room knowing his brother was probably lost in one of his stupid books he was always going on about.

Grinning he strode into the room. He had hours' worth of quips he'd thought of during the long drive to dish out to his brother. He could already picture the look Sammy would give him. The way he'd narrow his intelligent brown eyes at Dean, pinch his lips together in a frown, and scrunch his nose in distaste. Yeah, Dean knew that look well. It was when he knew he was doing his job as the big brother right.

He looked around the large room, "Sammy?" he called.

He waited for a moment, but no answer came. Dean frowned then decided that he must be locked up somewhere in his room. A quick search of the small cabin revealed that it hadn't been disturbed in the last couple of days. Worry was quickly beginning to turn into panic. He made one last pass from the living room the kitchen. He wasn't worried about his dad, his dad was on the road more than he was with the boys, but Sammy never went on a hunt, ever. Dean had made sure his dad knew that if he needed help he was to take Dean instead, no matter the circumstances.

A flash of white caught his eye on the kitchen table as he went to pass by. He paused and walked to stare down at the small, white envelope sitting there. There was another note sitting next to it. That note read,

 _Dean. On a hunt. Contact you soon._

But it wasn't the angry scrawl of his father that had him slowly backing up until he hit the cold, hard wood of the counter. Staring at the white envelope, his legs gradually buckled and he slid onto the floor, still gazing at the white envelope.

His heart pounded in his chest and his hands began to shake slightly until he clenched them into tight fists. He may have never seen that envelope before, but he didn't have to read it to know what it said. It was a letter, from Stanford. A letter dedicated to Sammy. An acceptance letter.

He let out an unsteady breath and hugged his knees to his chest. Deep down he had always known this day would come. The day where Sammy would leave. Where he would leave him. He had always known it, but had hoped it would never come to pass. Their dad had never been able to understand him; Sammy had always wanted to be normal, to live a regular life. Their dad had spent years hunting monsters and Dean knew he couldn't leave him to do it by himself. Dean didn't know if his mother would have wanted him to hunt the creatures that lurk in the night, his dad had always refused to talk about her. But he knew the old man; their lifestyle wasn't an easy one. Leaving him would be his dad's death sentence. Helping his dad would keep him safe and alive and despite his dad's tendency to want to hunt alone, he would have backup if he needed it.

Sammy couldn't stand living the life they had, he had never aspired to be all the things their dad wanted them to be. It had always given their father fits, but Sammy was stubborn. Living a life without being constantly uprooted and left behind was what Sammy wanted. He had wanted Dean to join him, but Dean knew he couldn't do that. Whenever Sammy had asked, he had just shook his head and hoped that one day Sammy would just forget about it. Dean had been selfish, not wanting to give up on being a family, not wanting to give him up. They had both known the minute Sammy left he would never be coming back.

Dean felt a lone tear slip down his cheek. He didn't bother to look in the room Sammy had been using. He knew the two bags that held all of his brother's belongings were gone, there was nothing left of him other than Dean's memories. He sat still for a long moment before shakily getting up. He stumbled through the door, fumbling with his keys. When he reached the car he lurched and fell inside with a thud.

Revving his engine he took off down the dirt road, his wheels spinning. He didn't hear the rocks that were being spit up and scratching his baby. He drove and drove before stopping at the first bar he came across. Stalking toward the door he strode in. Tonight he was going to forget. He was going to forget everything. He was going to get lost in swaying bodies and drink until he didn't even know his own name.

He melded with the crowd and took large, careless drinks of whatever was handed to him because it didn't matter. Nothing mattered any more. Sammy was the only thing that had ever truly meant something to Dean.

But now he was gone, and Dean was alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1**

Monday, September 13 2004

Easing himself out of his seat Dean placed his new love, an old shotgun, into the trunk. In all honesty, he was quite proud of himself. After spending years thinking there had to be a better way of taking care of ghosts he'd finally figured it out. A shotgun was the solution. He could use chunks of salt as the pellets and use that to disperse any angry ghost as he dug open its grave.

He'd found the antique gun in an old barn he'd hunkered down in during a fierce wind storm a few weeks back. The old man who owned it hadn't cared if Dean took it so Dean had tucked it away with the rest of his ammo. He was sure the old man would be surprised if he knew the extent of Dean's knowledge in firearms, but Dean felt no need to show him. Using a rusty saw he'd chopped off half the barrel wanting to widen the range.

In this last hunt it had worked like a charm and Dean was pleased to say he'd made it through the endeavor scot-free. With the tune of Lynyrd Skynyrd's Down South Jukin' playing in his head he stepped into the town's small bar. It was early in the afternoon and a small group of the bars regulars were quietly sipping their drinks.

He slipped into a seat, nodding to the bartender, and ordering a Corona. He hadn't been sitting long when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise. He immediate wanted to tense, but forced himself to remain relaxed. After all, he hadn't made it this long as a hunter by being unaware of his surroundings. He knew when he was being watched. Casually he slid off his stool and stretched as his eyes slowly roamed the room. Nothing. There was nothing there. Holding back a frown he spied the bathroom and made his way to the door and slipped in.

His heart was beating at a slow, steady rhythm, but he felt strung out. When he'd looked around the room there was no sign of another presence other than the men he'd already interacted with. This wasn't the first time he'd been aware of something there that he couldn't see. Only once in the handful of times he had gotten this particular sense had he thought he saw something.

He shuffled over to the sink, the faucet creaking as he turned the knob to let the water flow. Splashing cold water across his face he inhaled deeply. He wasn't sure what to make of the silent shadow that seemed to be following him. He couldn't figure out what it wanted from him, but at least he didn't get the overwhelming sense it wanted to kill him immediately.

It was as if Dean were a curious case study that it had decided was worth watching till the end. It was waiting for something. He didn't know what and didn't like the idea that it possibly knew something he didn't. No. He didn't like it one bit. Wiping his face off with his sleeve he walked back into the bar and paid his dues before taking off. He'd gotten a call from another hunter earlier in the day asking him to take on a case in Montana and he'd agreed.

A day later he'd arrived in town and it was bigger than he'd anticipated. Shit. How was he going to find… whatever it was and deal with it? There were too many opportunities for witnesses. He didn't like working in such close proximity to bystanders. They had way too many questions and, if involved, made way too much of a nuisance for him. What the hell had Caleb gotten him into?

He pulled up to the gas station he'd agreed to meet the fellow hunter at and filled his tank as he waited. He snorted when he saw the 1958 Chevy Sidestep pull into the lot. While he had nothing against trucks, it was definitely not his 1967 Chevrolet Impala where you could sleep fairly comfortably in the back if need be or hide a body in the trunk.

His lips twitched at the thought of Caleb attempting to stash all his ammo under the seats. He shook his head as he tried to get rid of all the thoughts that were considering ways he could amp the truck if he ever had the misfortune of owning one. He recapped the gas tank and wiped his hands on his pants as he met Caleb halfway through the parking lot. Shaking his hand, Dean gave his longtime friend a tight lipped smile and met his piercing blue eyes.

"So?" Dean asked raising his eyebrows expectantly, "You gonna tell me what I'm dealing with here?"

"We" Caleb corrected as he studied Dean carefully. "I'm clear out of ideas and I need help. Whatever this thing is it's tougher than anything I've encountered before."

"Is it now?" Dean thought out loud as he scrutinized Caleb like he would an opponent. He was aware Caleb was doing the same thing to him; in a hunter's world there was a constant competition between them to see who was the toughest. But Dean had learned long ago, it was brains not brawn that won him most fights, not that he lacked in either, although some would question it based on a few decisions he's made along the way.

Caleb shifted his stance, his eyes flitting across the lot before he nodded.

"Yes, but let's not talk here" He said finally, "I'm staying at motel a block away from here. We can talk there."

Dean nodded in agreement and moved to pay the station for his gas as Caleb stepped into his vehicle and drove off.

Twenty minutes later he was nursing a beer in Caleb's small room. Meanwhile Caleb was pacing the worn floor agitatedly as he explained to Dean the events that led him to Montana and had kept him there for the last several days.

"I don't understand it" he said, "none of it is adding up. Some people go missing and then are found a few days later lost and confused. Others disappear and are found with various body parts missing, while others vanish and are not seen again. At first I thought it could possibly be more than one case here, but the more I dug into it the less I thought it could be. The victims themselves are random as far as I can tell, but there are a few consistencies."

"Do you know what it is?" Dean asked. His thumped loudly in his chest, this was sounding terribly similar to something he'd come upon a few months ago.

Caleb shifted uncomfortably, frowning he said, "Well, under normal circumstances I'd say I already have an answer, but…

"You can't kill them" Dean finished solemnly. His lips pressed into a thin line as Caleb gave him a nod of surprise.

Dean took a generous swig of his drink, "Let me guess, you've tried everything you know, everything you can think of and it still hasn't taken care of them".

"You seem to already know what I'm dealing with" Caleb frowned upset, but Dean shook his head.

"No, I have no idea what you're working with." He paused for a moment, "I ran into a couple cases where even though I knew what I was dealing with and had the proper equipment they still didn't die."

It was silent for a moment then Caleb nodded, "Okay. You're right. I've never fought Preta before, but I've done my research. They don't react well to three of the four elements: earth, water, and fire. I've incorporated the elements into different plans of attack…" He trailed off, running his hand over the stubble of his head, "It doesn't make sense Dean. They died, they were truly gone, but no sooner did I get things settled than they'd reappear again."

Dean remained silent for a long while. He didn't like the implications of this. It seemed too coincidental to his other cases not to be related. But he was at a loss as to what it all meant. His fingers rapped absentmindedly against rickety motel table. He straightened when he became aware of Caleb staring at him expectantly.

Leveling his eyes with Caleb's he said, "I have an idea, I don't know if it'll work, but we can try"…

" _This is a stupid idea"_ Caleb grunted later that day as he spread a paste Dean had made from a mixture of herbs including sage, yarrow, tobacco, and cat's claw, "What's this supposed to do anyway?"

Dean frowned at the other man's grumbling, "That's supposed to be three quarters of a circle Caleb, not a squiggly, poorly shaped oval" he said smoothly.

"If you're so goddamn good at forming a circle why don't you do this yourself?" Caleb complained.

Dean snorted, "In your dreams. I made the paste and I'm doing all the hard stuff later remember? The least you can do is help."

"What is this stuff anyway?" Gesturing to the herbs, Caleb asked, not so subtly trying to change the subject, "What are you trying to do? Give them a meal?"

His face paled as he realized his words and he grimaced, "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that".

Dean flashed him a tight lipped grin, "Don't worry about it. Just make sure you don't mess up your part of the job."

Caleb cursed at him as Dean chuckled and headed toward his Impala to get some shut eye before nightfall.

 _Yep. This was a very bad idea_ , Dean decided as he sat in the middle of the very wobbly partial circle. The idea was to lure the Preta into a trap set by Dean and Caleb using Dean as bait for the flesh eaters and the bowl of fruits and veggies for the rest. The herbs had surprisingly dealt with the other monsters he'd had to face recently, but that didn't mean squat this time around. He only hoped it would work.

And that Caleb would do his goddamn part and stop poking around.

"Hey!" Dean snapped at his accomplice, "Get scarce, we need them to think I'm alone, remember?"

Caleb glared at him, Dean knew he should feel bad for his remark, Caleb was just worried for him, but now that he was in the circle he just wanted to get it over with. The herbs he'd had his friend lay out were things his mother had carefully explained to him when he was little.

He could still remember her long, dark brown hair that framed her face and her beautiful brown eyes that Sammy shared, with high cheek bones and perfect straight, white teeth. His mother had been Cherokee and had learned to be a medicine woman from the time she was very young. She'd always made home remedies for every ailment and always swore that balance of nature is what heals. Dean was starting to learn she was right.

Caleb stalked away and Dean watched as his friend disappeared into the shadows. He knew he'd be ready to close the circle as soon as the last of the Preta made it in and light it up.

Yeah. This really was a stupid idea, but they were spirits. And like other spirits they needed to heal and move on, or in some cases, just move on.

He stayed still for a long time, for a while his brain ran amuck as it searched anxiously for signs of the Preta. Eventually, his mind quieted and he relaxed slightly into an easy meditation. He was prepared to act on a moment's notice, but his heart remained steady and calm. He waited.

An hour or so later he heard the rasp of movement across the ground and eerie moans that sent chills down his spine. Instinctively he tensed, knowing that they were headed straight toward him. He kept his eyes closed and continued to breathe evenly. When one of the moans sounded as if it were right next to his ear, his eyes flew open of their own accord. One of the Preta was staring back at him, its mouth wide and hallow in the darkness and its belly exaggerated in its rotundness on a thin, frail skeleton. An unearthly wail sounded from its mouth.

He struggled not to react as the creature studied him carefully; it seemed unable to decide what to make of him. The bones of the Preta glowed white in the moonlight and around its mouth was a scarlet stain. Immediately he took inventory of himself, but quickly determined it had not somehow gotten a bite out of him. They stared at each other for another impossibly long moment before the Preta crouched so its face was a foot away from Dean's. It slowly reached out and, before Dean could react, snatched a handful of strawberries from the bowl.

Stuffing the fruit into its mouth, the fruit disappeared into the dark cavern while Dean remained frozen. There were more intense wailing coming from behind the Preta as the ones behind it started to fight over the remaining fruit and leaving Dean to have to quickly scramble out of the way.

The Preta's were still fighting when Dean heard a guttural groan from behind him. He whipped around and came face to face with another Preta. Dean almost stumbled back in surprised but stood his ground. He knew immediately this one was different, that it was a predator. Dean could tell this was the type of Preta he'd been waiting for: a flesh Preta. Where the other Preta's had a hollow emptiness to its looks, the flesh Preta had a look of burning intensity and hatred when Dean's eyes connected with its. The bones on the first Preta were luminescent in the moonlight while the flesh Preta's shone dimly like that of a black pearl. The Preta went to step towards him, but stilled just before its feet touched the paste Caleb had spread earlier. It took a step back and a deep, inhuman snarl ripped from its chest.

The commotion from the other fighting Preta's stopped and Dean turned to see more of the kind of Preta's he feared entering. The flesh Preta he'd already encountered was swiftly making its way around the rough circle towards the entrance. The flesh Preta's were backing the rest of them to the outer edges, growling their dominance while they stared hungrily at Dean. Dean wondered what they were waiting for.

As soon as the last Preta entered the makeshift circle Caleb flew out from behind his cover and closed the circle. Dean heard the flick and saw the flare of a match as it hit the now dried paste and it immediately began to burn. The chorus of wails and screeches that followed burned Dean's ears, but he had other things to worry about.

As soon as the fire encased them and the smoke began to rise he had a job to do. In the meantime, he just had to avoid getting killed by the Preta that was now flying toward him screeching in fury. With a yell he flung himself to the side and narrowly missed being pushed straight into the fire. The flesh Preta's grabbed at him with their long limbs and he desperately twisted, turned, and tugged his way out of their grasping fingers.

With a curse he yelled at the Preta that were simply standing their uselessly, like sheep herded into a corner, "I'm trying to help! I'm trying to help dammit!"

He looked up and saw one of the creatures staring at him curiously; it was the one that had studied him before seizing the food out of the bowl.

"Do you really want to live like this for eternity? I think I can help. I _want_ to help, but I can't do that if they kill me. Do you understand?"

The Preta didn't move and Dean, having gotten distracted was suddenly flung backward as a mass of the dull black creatures began to engulf him. He couldn't help the shout of pain when he felt bony fingers grasping his limbs roughly, tugging at him from different directions. The smoke was powerful around them and he involuntarily inhaled it and began to cough. The Preta around him were starting to get uneasy and their shrieks and moans began to grow in volume.

The flesh Preta's tight hold on him suddenly loosened as their attention was diverted to something else. With a quick, harsh tug Dean released himself from their grasp and fell heavily to the ground. The impact took his breath away and he wheezed as he sat himself up only to be pushed back down harshly. He cried out as his head struck the ground and he pushed at the limbs holding him down but they didn't budge. His eyes shooting open when he realized he'd closed them at some point.

The flickering colors of the fire caught his attention first when he heard a yell and saw Caleb using a piece of wood to whack Preta back into the circle. He could see the flesh Preta pushing one another toward the flames trying to get one to fall out of the circle.

He could hear Caleb calling out to him over the wailing, but didn't have the breath to respond. Caleb was running frantically around the circle, he could hear his friend cursing and yelling insults and threats to the Preta while the shrieked and moaned in response.

A horrible cry grated his ears and his head snapped to look at the Preta so close to his head. For a moment he'd forgotten he'd been grabbed.

The Preta he'd yelled at looked back at him with its black, dead eyes. It keened, almost sorrowfully, and Dean knew what it wanted.

"Thank you" he whispered to it.

The Preta didn't respond, it just continued to cover Dean's body with its own and the rest of the Preta seemed to have forgotten his presence.

Dean's body shook as he began to hum a melody that had once been used as a lullaby to sing him to sleep.

WO-HA-LI

HA-AH-NAH-NAH

WO-HA-LI

HA-AH-NAH-NAH

 _Let your soul_

 _Cry no more_

 _Let your soul_

 _Fly once more_

WO-HA-LI

HA-AH-NAH-NAH

WO-HA-LI

HA-AH-NAH-NAH

…

Dean's eyes slid closed at the sound and smell of the crackling flames. For a brief moment he gave himself over to it, to the song and the meaning behind it. As he continued to chant the rest of the song the clamor around him faded and disappeared. The flames grew brighter and brighter and even with his eyes closed he could see the flames had turned a brilliant white and, with a flash, the flames died and darkness descended.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2**

Monday, September 13 2004

 _(Caleb)_

Between the darkness and the smoke Caleb couldn't see a damn thing. The fire had gone out in a tremendous whoosh before disappearing. He didn't even have time to wonder why the smoke was white. Or why the fire went out at all. He dropped the branch he'd been using to swing wildly at the Preta that had fought trying to get out of the fiery circle, but luckily he hadn't had to fight them for long. Dean's little chant caused the fire that had started out as a small ring of flames to grow over four feet in height. Near the end the fire had blazed almost twice as high, encompassing the entire circle.

He hadn't heard Dean since. He was pretty sure the front of his shirt was burnt. Maybe even he was burnt; he hadn't had time to check. At the moment he was stumbling through the dark meadow, his hands brushing across the rocks and grass littering the ground searching for Dean.

That stubborn ingrate, Dean never told him that it would be dangerous for him. And Caleb, believing that Dean knew what he was doing and trusting that he wouldn't get himself killed, let him do exactly the opposite. The damn fool.

After a few minutes the smoke began to clear and he could make out a dark shadow a few feet away from him. Rushing over he found Dean, face down in the dirt.

"Dean?" he rasped.

There was no reply.

Carefully he reached out and turned his friend over. In the dense lighting he could only make out that Dean was still breathing. Gently he shook him, hoping that Dean would jolt awake and Caleb could laugh, call him an idiot and then they'd go and grab a few beers before going their separate ways, but he didn't move.

"Shit" Caleb muttered. They'd left the car on a dirt road about a mile away because Dean refused to bring it in the 'fighting zone' on the off chance it'd get a scratch. He'd have to carry the idiot there if he wasn't going to wake up. Caleb sighed as he looked around, he hadn't brought anything other than his guns with him, but that wasn't going to help him drag Dean's ass out of the brush.

It was either over the shoulder or bridal-style then. He snorted at the thought of the latter. Maybe if things were different, if they didn't deal with the supernatural, Caleb would have been tempted to go through with the thought. What could be a better way to bait Dean with? He grinned briefly at the thought.

Realizing he wasn't getting anywhere and that Dean needed to be looked over in better lighting he looked around. Spotting a fallen tree a few yards away he picked Dean up and carried him over to the log. He could hoist Dean up over his shoulder if he wanted to, but that could potentially hurt him more than help. So he used the log as a prop to get Dean curled over his shoulder.

Once he lifted Dean and had him settled over his shoulder as softly as he could he set out to find the car. Years of practice as a hunter allowed him to find the car with ease. However, the sturdy weight of Dean Winchester in the mix made it a little more difficult than usual for the short walk.

When they reached the car he padded Dean's leather jacket and found the keys in a front pocket. Digging it out, Caleb unlocked the doors and placed Dean as gently as he could in the backseat. Snatching a flashlight from the floor he did a quick spot check of Dean. He hadn't felt enough blood on him to be worried as he walked, but wanted to be sure he hadn't missed anything.

Once he was satisfied with Dean's condition, he climbed into the front seat and drove the Impala back to the motel Dean was checked in. In the small room it smelled stuffy and old, one double bed had all of Dean's papers, clothes, and other trash strewn across it and the one next to it was rumpled. Caleb assumed that was the bed Dean slept in. He deposited his long-time friend on the bed and closely evaluated the situation.

The Preta were gone. They'd gone up in flames the moment Dean had stopped chanting in an explosion of white light. Dean had been in the explosion and had somehow come out of it unscathed except for one minor detail. He wasn't waking up. Caleb rubbed his palms together. He had to know what Dean had done. He didn't like the idea of sorting through Dean's stuff, but it had to be done.

Hours later he was flipping through the last of Dean's papers. He had to say, the other man was much more organized that he had anticipated. The state of the second bed had led him to believe that Dean feared organization, but after going through his papers he recognized patterns that underlay the superficially unrelated subjects.

And there was one thing he was certain about. Dean had never written down his formula.

Groaning, he leaned back into the overstuffed motel chair and scratched at the stubble on his cheeks. Turning in the chair he looked at the worn man he'd called his friend for years.

It'd been about four and half years ago now that he'd last seen him. Their father's had worked together on cases where they needed back up more mature than teenage boys. Caleb and his father had been hunting since the death of his mother and sister twelve years ago. When they'd come across the Winchesters Caleb's father thought that the similarities would bond their families together, but it quickly became clear that John Winchesters need for revenge had not waned with time.

Like the two Winchester boys', Caleb and his father kept up the hunt because they felt it needed to be done. Or at least, it had been for the Winchester boys until Sam left for college. Caleb hadn't been surprised to hear of his departure from the hunting community. Although Sam had been a skilled hunter, his heart hadn't been in it. There was too much enthusiasm about the world and its possibilities for him to stick around with John and just follow orders.

When he'd heard about Sam's change in career choice, he'd felt pride for the younger boy. He knew it probably took a lot to stand up to the old man and tell it to him straight, but now he had to wonder at his choice. He was still proud of Sam, but he'd never thought about how Dean may have felt about it. And after seeing Dean for the first time in as many years, Caleb knew that it had changed him. Dean had always been enigmatic and charming with an underlining seriousness Caleb had only caught glimpses of.

That Dean would flirt with anything that walked, chat up the crustiest old biddy, and make grudging admirers from the surrounding male population. There were few things Dean absolutely cared about and Caleb knew he could whittle it down to his guns, the impala, and Sam.

And after spending time with him, Caleb knew, even if Dean wouldn't admit it, Sam's leaving had changed him. He was a little more ragged, looked a little rougher, and smiled significantly less. Caleb had an inkling that Dean had stubbornly refused to contact his little brother and guessed that Sam, as stupid as he was smart, thought it was because Dean had written him off and was to mulish to put the first foot forward.

So that was the solution. Call Sam. If anyone knew what his brother had done in the first place it would be Sam and maybe, just maybe, he could get those two obstinate meatheads back together.

The actual act of calling Sam proved to be much harder than anticipated. Apparently the use of recording cellphone numbers only worked if the people didn't change them. Caleb had just about given up on finding Sam's number. His phone number for Sam was no longer in use and Dean's phone didn't even have an entry. A fact that he found a little odd considering Dean's whole life basically revolved around the kid.

If anyone had a serious case of mother hen mode it was Dean Winchester, or at least, when it came to Sam. As a last ditch effort Caleb was scrolling through previous phone calls on Dean's phone when he noticed a number pop up repeatedly. The calls to the number varied by months at a time, but only lasted a few seconds at the most. Caleb knew without a doubt that number was Sam's. He rolled his eyes at Dean's behavior and dialed the number.

The phone rang shrilly in his ear. Caleb was sure the phone would go to voicemail. It would be just his luck to discover another phone number that was no longer in service and didn't have a voicemail. Or maybe it would at least have the decency to announce its own state of inactivity.

As he waited, he stared down at Dean's still form. He really should have pulled the man's boots off his feet. Or at least try to make him slightly more comfortable. He loosened the dirty and frayed laces and was tugging the well-worn boots off Dean's feet when the phone's shrieks stopped. There was a short pause before a voice grunted, "Yeah?"

It wasn't until Sam actually answered that Caleb realized he hadn't expected him to in the first place. The surprise at hearing his voice caused him to jerk back and drop the boot with a thud and the phone tucked into the crick of his neck crashed to the floor. He swore, the heavy boot had fallen right onto his big toe, and then bent down to snatched the phone from the carpet.

"What the hell is wrong with your brother?" He barked into the phone.

Damn, he should have known better than to help a Winchester. It always ends up biting you in the ass. He glared Dean's prone form, it was all his fault.

There was a moment of shocked and confused silence before, "Who is this?" Sam demanded.

Caleb snorted, "Who the hell you think it is? Bugs Bunny? It's Caleb. I know we haven't chatted for a bit, but I'd think you'd remember me. Saved your ass a time or two…" he trailed off smirking. He knew Sam was probably glaring at the phone.

Silence, then Sam sighed in exasperation before saying, "What do you need?"

"What do you think I need?" Caleb snapped. This was it, show time, after this he should be a goddamn actor.

"I need you to tell me what the hell is wrong with your brother. He just had to play idiot and now I have no idea what to do with him. I swear with you Winchesters it's always the same. If you're not getting drunk, you're getting your asses handed to ya" Caleb griped. And in his opinion, every word was the truth. More or less.

"What?" Sam asked immediately, "Dean's hurt?"

Caleb grinned to himself. Hook, line, and sinker.

"What happened?" Sam prompted when Caleb took too long to respond.

Caleb sighed; "I'm sorry kid" he started off, "I thought he knew what he was doing. I mean, he sure as hell did with our targets, but he didn't tell me what would come of it. Didn't realize until it was too late that he'd let it get out of hand."

He tapped his foot thoughtfully as he tried to remember the details, "I can't wake him up. We had a case against some Preta, never seen nothin' like them before, and called Dean. Thought he might be able to offer some input. When he got here I told him what was goin' on and he said he'd already dealt with somethin' like it before. And that he could do it again. Never said he'd get himself knocked out cold."

A long moment of silence followed then, "Caleb, what exactly did he do?"

"Well he made a paste out of a bunch of herbs. I could probably tell ya what they were if you give me a minute and then had me use it to draw a circle or part of a circle. Once the Preta were within it with Dean as bait, my job was to enclose it and light the paste on fire. What I hadn't expected was for Dean to refuse to leave the circle. He was trapped in there until his little chant thing caused everything around him to go up in flames and knock him out."

He heard the rustling of papers in the background and could imagine Sam scribbling away taking notes while he talked.

"What was the chant Caleb?" Sam asked coolly.

And that's where Sam the student comes in, Caleb thought. "Don't know," he answered, "that's why I called you. It was different though. Not the normal Latin used for rituals. It sounded…Native American? Yeah, like the powwow stuff."

Unable to recall the words Caleb hummed the melody tunelessly. The rushed stroke of the pen paused at the tune. Sam swallowed audibly over the phone.

"Caleb" Caleb could hear the hesitation in his voice, "Did it start like this? Wo-ha-li Ha-ah-nah-nah…"

"Yes" Caleb said immediately as he recognized the words and the tune. He felt a rush of excitement. Maybe Sam had the answer after all.

"I don't understand" Sam whispered quietly, almost to himself.

"Understand what?" Caleb asked.

Sam sighed, "That was a lullaby Dean used to sing to me when I was a kid. When we were little and I was sick he would sing it to make me feel better. It always worked. But how does this relate to your case?"

"Hmm" Caleb hummed. That was not the response he'd been hoping for.

"Ok" Sam said decisively, "I'm sure the library has the information I need. I'll let you know when I have news."

Before Caleb could reply he heard a click and buzz through the line. Well, that hadn't gone exactly as plan. He'd hoped Sam would come running to help his older brother, but he did get the next best thing. Sam was voluntarily doing research to help Dean. He knew without a doubt Sam cared deeply about his brother. He just needed a push in the right direction.

Caleb grinned. Well, not bad for a man who was customarily bad with words. Either his acting skills had improved or Sam was so eager for a connection with his brother he hadn't taken note of how long Dean had been out. Caleb surmised Dean would most likely wake up in a day or two. He said he'd done it before; maybe the kickback this time was worse than he'd been expecting. Either way, if he'd survived it then, he'd survive it now.

Whistling jauntily to himself Caleb decided it was time to cash in his reward with a hot shower and a complimentary beer. He thought he deserved a little something for getting the ball rolling for those stubborn idiots. After all, he'd gotten through to Sam and had carried Dean's heavy ass a mile through the woods. Yep, all in a nights work.

Thursday, September 16 2004

The town was almost eerily silent as Caleb walked up still street. In a few hours the small town's energy would grow to a steady hum, but nothing like the buzz found in larger cities. The morning chill offered a pleasant bite as he made his way to the local library. The tiny library was the only building in this forsaken place that had access to the outside world.

He'd spent the day before and he'd spend today searching for new cases that he and his father could take care of. He and his father had originally planned to meet the next day, but he couldn't leave Dean without knowing the other hunter was up and about. So until then he had the pleasure of researching hunts for his father to do until he could join them.

For now he'd change the bandages on Dean's arm, do some research, and drink some beer. Lots of beer. The local dive was great for cold beer and a hearty meal. The computer screeched complaints as the internet churned trying to connect. He sighed; it was going to be a long day.

Hours later he stretched the aching muscles in his neck and back from sitting for so long. The connection hadn't once ventured from the slow grinding pace it'd started with. Man, he really hated computers. But he did have three solid leads for his father to take care of. He'd call him on his trip back to the motel.

It'd been a couple of hours since he'd left Dean in the stuffy motel room and figured it was time to check up on him. He took his time on the short walk back and made his call before quietly entering the room. Expecting to find Dean on the bed he jolted slightly when he realized it was empty.

A quick scan of the room revealed that Dean had not only gotten up, but had taken a shower if the towel on the floor was any indication and had left. Where he had gone, Caleb had no idea. His duffle and belongings were still spread across the room, but Caleb immediately noticed Dean had forgotten something. A key. How would he get in without it?

Caleb's eyes narrowed in concentration, if he were Dean and just woke up where would he go? The impala. Caleb nodded to himself and started out the door before stopping again. No, Dean wouldn't be at the car dammit, he'd be at the bar. Rolling his eyes, Caleb picked up his pace and hurried toward the only bar in town. No doubt Dean had already long been there.

Now accustomed to the dim lighting of the bar, Caleb's stride did not slow as he strode through the thick wood doors. He recognized Dean's familiar silhouette sitting alone at the bar. His sturdy frame was hunkered down, his shoulders bowed in. The bartender startled at Caleb's entrance but Dean didn't even flinch.

His focus zeroed in on the other hunter as the sudden urge to smack him upside the head overwhelmed him. Knowing Dean was now fine only fueled the fire that had slowly been burning in his gut for the past couple of days.

"What the hell were you thinking back there?" Caleb growled as he slid into the bar stool next to Dean.

Caleb could see the wheels in Dean's head turning as he wondered how Caleb had found him. When Dean kept silent he finally grunted, "Always the same with you Winchesters, the moment a case is done you move on to drown yourself in alcohol. Knew I'd either find you here or at the liquor store…"

Dean didn't bother to reply, just took another sip of his beer. Caleb knew he'd hit a sore spot, but didn't care. Every hunter had their vices, his was no worse or better than Dean's, his was just different. They sat in a cool silence. After a while Caleb knew Dean was aware he was still waiting for an explanation, but also knew Dean wasn't willing to break the calm silence he'd fallen into just yet.

Caleb was aware Dean knew he was upset that he'd been so reckless. If he didn't know any better Caleb would think his friend was either trying to get himself killed or just plain didn't care if he did. And neither of those options pleased him. One look at Dean told him that he still hadn't eaten. So he signaled the bartender and ordered food for both of them and a beer for himself.

"It was a chimera" Dean's brow was tense and his eyes were trained intently on a crack in the wooden bar. Caleb could tell he wasn't seeing the counter, but thinking hard about something.

"Never saw anything like it" he continued, "No matter how many times I killed it, it always reappeared. I killed it by accident actually. The herbs were the stuff I use when Sammy or I had a cold. My… my mom she used to burn the paste when I was little. Said it purifies all. Never expected it to work on everything, including monsters."

"… it worked? How?" Caleb asked confusedly. They'd used cold medicine on the Preta?

"Damned if I know" Dean replied, "Felt like I was comin' down with something and it'd always worked. The chimera ambushed me in my room. The herbs were in a bag and I lit it up thinking it might not like the fire. It hit the edge of its tail, there was a burst of flames, a flash of white, then it disappeared."

Dean tilted his head back and downed the rest of his glass. They fell into a comfortable silence as Caleb digested his words. The bartender slid their meals in front of them and Dean tore into his with relish. Caleb picked at his food. He wanted to believe that Dean was pulling his leg, but he'd dealt with the same type of creature that Dean had. He knew how hard it was to kill them and as outlandish as it seemed, it made more sense that Dean had accidently discovered how to kill it instead of him finding a solution in an old demonology book or the like.

After the meal the continued to sip on their beers and listen to the steady thrum of the jukebox.

Caleb watched Dean out of the corner of his eye, "I called your brother you know…" he said casually.

Dean froze, his back going ridged. Caleb pretended not to notice and continued to sip his drink as he waited. There were a tense couple of moments before Deans shoulders forcibly relaxed.

"Yeah?" he questioned nonchalantly. His fists were clenched and his jaw twitched. Caleb turned to his friend and eyed him seriously.

Dean refused to meet his gaze and glanced out over the bar.

"He was worried about you. Guarantee you that he hasn't slept a wink since Monday night trying to find a cure."

Dean looked at him in confusion, "Cure?"

"Well, you coulda warned me the spell would knock you out. Called him because no one knows your antics better than your brother. Thought he might know somethin'. He panicked and hung up on me after telling me he'd call when he found something."

Dean didn't reply and in a way Caleb hadn't expected him to. The atmosphere seemed to lighten around them although Dean's face remained impassive. He could see that the other hunters eyes were lit up with a liveliness he'd never noticed was gone until then.

Dean swiveled in his seat and examined the crowd before them. He grinned slowly when he saw a pool table in the back corner of the bar. There were already a few men huddled around it and Caleb could see the wolfish smirk Dean was trying to hide when he spotted them.

Casually Dean got up, "I'm gonna restock inventory". Then walked over to the group of men and called out a greeting. Caleb rolled his eyes and knew he was going to start hustling them for cash. He didn't care. He'd done it often enough.

The back counter of the bar was littered with liquor bottles and he stared at it, alone in his thoughts. The rough scrape of metal on carpet snapped him out of it as he felt a body settle into the chair next to his own. He glanced at the person neutrally and only years of practice kept him from doing a double take.

The woman that sat next to him was beautiful. Thick, long dark hair framed a beautiful face. High cheekbones, eyes the color of caramel, and full, rose petal lips. She gave him an easy smile and nod before turning to the bartender and ordering a drink.

He signaled to the bartender that he wanted another draft as well and waited. There was no doubt the woman was attractive, but something about her gave him the jitters. His hunter sense screamed something else was playing into this scenario.

He glanced at the woman next to him and she stared serenely at the bar. He knew she knew he was examining her but a slight smile continued to curve her lips. His heart beat sped up.

"Is your name Caleb?" She asked suddenly turning to look at him.

His eyebrows rose in surprise. He stared mutely at her for a moment then said, "Do I know you?"

Her lips curved into a wide smile and she gave a soft laugh, "Probably not. Do you remember ever being in Crescent City?"

He mentally filed through a list of cases he and his father had done through the years. "Are you talking about New Orleans?"

She shook her head and he thought for another moment, "California?"

She grinned at him and he knew he'd gotten it right, but he still didn't remember seeing her. He was sure he would have.

"It was a long time ago," she said, "about seven years ago actually. I was a bit… different back then. You helped my family with a little ghoul issue."

He nodded remembering helping the family she mentioned, but still couldn't draw a face. The couple had been older, but had had two daughters and a son.

"I wasn't around much when you guys did your job, I was at school at the time and my parents wanted my siblings and I to stay away from it so we were staying at a friend's house." The corner of her mouth quirked into a half smile, "I wasn't supposed to be anywhere near there, but wanted to see the guys who'd come to save us. That's when I saw you; you were fighting the thing while your father was trying to destroy it."

Caleb dipped his head in agreement. He remembered that day; the damned thing had almost gotten away. He'd been grappling with it when it suddenly bucked him off and he went flying. It started running uphill toward the house when his father had finished it off by decapitating it with a machete.

"That day" she said slowly, "When it started running toward the house, I wanted you to know, it wasn't running toward the house. It had been running towards me. It'd sensed I was there and was probably going to use me somehow to escape."

She reached out and gently touched his arm, "I just wanted to thank you and your dad for saving me and my family. I won't forget that"

Caleb opened his mouth to respond, but she got up and slipped away before he could think of anything to say. The moment she disappeared Dean slid into her seat. He was grinning, but his eyes held a wary look as he gazed at Caleb.

"Who was that?" He asked and Caleb shrugged. Even if she knew him, he didn't know her. The wariness he'd felt when she'd first arrived had dimmed, but had not completely gone away. He believed she was telling him the truth about the ghouls, but there was more to it than that he was sure.

He toyed with the cell phone in his pocket and considered calling his father to double check on him and to ask about the girl. He deliberated quickly and decided to do it the next day. For now he would sleep and in the morning he'd hit the road. Now that Dean was awake they could part ways and he could talk to his father then.

Slapping his hand to his friends shoulder he shook him affectionately, "Let's get out of here. I'm done with this place". Dean smirked at him, but didn't comment as they walked out the door.

The next morning the two men stopped at the last corner before they went separate ways. Caleb gripped Dean's hand tightly and surprised the man by pulling him into a quick hug.

"Take care of yourself out there. No more of those stupid stunts you pulled back there. If you need help call me. Got it?" he asked.

Dean nodded looking slightly stunned, but his open look shuttered closed at Caleb's words. Caleb could only hope that Dean would listen to him. And he also hoped Dean and Sam would somehow sort out their issues. At least then he'd know they were both being taken care of by the other.

With a last friendly clap on the back, the two men climbed back into their vehicles and waved. Caleb watched as Dean drove off on the open road and started his truck. He kept an eye on the review mirror as he drove away until Dean's car disappeared from view.


End file.
